Tag: Tweetspeak Poetry

For The Quiet Ones, The Tired Ones, The Hardworking Ones, The Aging Ones: Thank-You

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

Thank you for joining me as I write out my gratitude, framing it through the lens of poetry. Today is Day Three.
(Joining Tweetspeak Poetry for their poetry prompt this week: Whittles and Wood)

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Tired

Shavings
Sit piled at his weary feet
By his well worn boots that match his face
Leathery lines
Deep crevasses carved by time

No amount of Botox
Were he so inclined, would mend and fill
The valleys of his face
Fitting
As they mirror this, his art
He carves
Dying
Art form
Knives and men
Paired on benches
Fade into the once was

What is it
About carving something from nothing
Must be close to godliness
Bringing form from void
Something from nothing
Bit by bit
Boney fingers
Sweeping along the piece of Hickory
Cryptic
Curling crooked
Like a school boy practicing his cursive

Bit by bit
He whittles away, aiming not for perfection
But simply to pass the time

His shavings blow like thistle seeds, released
By the currents, backdraft
Of the 5:04

He’ll return
Find his place tomorrow, smooth impression
Of his own backside
Made by years of sitting here

Tired of his retirement
Weary from too much rest
Rocking forth and back
To the sounds of

Metal scraping down the tracks
Carrying the 9 to 5’ers home

He and his Hickory
Left to sit, count the minutes
Count the days
Whittle away
What remains

Memories, bit by bit
Fade in messy piles by his weary feet
His Hickory chips

And the tail lights of the 5:04
Dim

He’ll form something from the void
Aiming not for perfection, but simply to pass the time
And pray to God
To grant him rest

(He is so tired, he is so very tired)
Of whittling his life
Away

The Bibliography

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 4 Comments

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The Bibliography 

I.

Archiving a life
by the edge of the sea
We search
For anything
That records all of this
Mirroring life
Buried in salt
Washed by the sea
We walk
Syncopated side steps
Forward
Then back
We track the slithering
Coast
Lined with debris
A field of antiquities
Offered up to me
For the remembering of this
Life
By the salty repository
He and I
Always together
Never far apart
Gathering up our days
In the wrinkled folds of flesh
Fingers unfurled
Hands, palm up
Receivers
Marking them
In shades of Olives

II.

Someone deemed it rare
A paradox
Copious amounts gathered up
In the hands of the
Careful
The cautious
An annotated bibliography
Marked, cataloged
Micro moments
Foot notes
Depression of toe and heel
Telling where we were
But not where we will
Go
Olive in hand
Shadowed by you

Writing in community with the folks at Tweetspeak for their Photo Play Prompt Portrait Of A Shell Sand And The Sea

 

The Healing Fragrance of Thanks

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 5 Comments

Dear Friends,

I picked the smallest trio of gardenia blossoms from my bush, placed them in a silver vase and sat them on my desk.

Beauty permeated my home. Fragrant beauty.

If you know this flower you know the potency of its fragrance, the unmistakeable trademark of its sweet, sweet smell. They say that our memory of smells stays with us the longest. Perhaps while others fade, slowly for some, quickly for others, the memory of Noxzema, fresh cut grass and Confederate Jasmine linger the longest. Find a place to embed or root deep down in our souls.

But I say, the memory of a generous act may rival the glorious fragrance of my beloved gardenia.

And so it is was when I  planted the seed of a dream. And  the winds of friendship picked it up, carried it off and watered it gingerly. Carefully. Diligently.

Friends who are strangers. Making the sweetness even more delectable.

Thank you. Saying it feels right and proper yes, but healing. In a come-full-circle way, the sending back of gratitude when a kind and generous gift has been received feels like closure. Gathering up the seeds of generosity and sending them back out to land on fertile soil, elsewhere. Out there. In the world.

Thank you friends at Tweetspeak Poetry and TSPoetry Press. Thank you L.L. Barkat and Tania Runyan. Thank you friends, known and unknown. Thank you for gathering the momentum, funds, and steam behind the gift of 180 copies of  “How To Read A Poem,” published by TSPoetry Press and written by Tania Runyan.

When I think of my gardenia which bloom every summer I will always remember your friendship and generosity.

I know we have given a gift which has and will touch the hearts and souls and minds of the class of 2014 of one school in one little zip code town.

There is mystery in the giving. There is trust in the release.

Poetry has a job to do, perhaps. Poetry has an opportunity to release its fragrant offering into the lives of one graduating class.

The gift of poetry and the gift of faith, joined together in this one beautiful act of friendship and generosity.

May you smell the sweet fragrance of my thanks. May my gratitude be known and remembered by each participant in this act of generosity.

Imagine with me the possibilities. Dream with me of the places poetry will go.

wishing you poetry, always,

elizabeth

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Ode To A Two Hour Lunch

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

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Tell me how it is
And why it is
That we ever arrived at
The drive-by lunch
Through windows for ordering
Past windows for grabbing
In lines and by speakers
And change dropped and left
At the last window on the
Left
Always

Tell me how we ever evolved
To a primitive way of eating
In our laps and on the run
Chewing
At the red light
Swallowing whole halves of
Meals
Not taking sodium laden small
Bites of
Food
And is it still even food
At all

Come with me and sit
Then linger
With napkins and conversation
Raise your cup to your
Lips between words of
Living life
Sip
Cool water wiggling between
Cubes of ice and wedges of lemon
Sliced thin where yellow fades
To ombre shades
Of citrus, pale to bright
The rind a reminder
To live on the outer edges
Of civilized dining
Not on the thin line of
Fast and furious
A dollar and sofa change
Does not a real meal buy

Laugh between bites
And nod your head
Hear and listen, listen and respond
With words
Lick your tongue along
The rim of your salty
Mouth and retrieve the remnants
Of seasoned scallops seared
Cut slow in quarters
With a knife and fork
If you remember
How
And pause
Before you place the tip of a wedge
Of pineapple
Sweet and pungent
Juice runs
Between your teeth
And gums
And you squeeze and suck
Every bit of juice
From this golden yellow
Fresh fruit
Swallow, breathe and speak
Of the book
You are reading and the one
Lying in wait
And the one due any day from
Amazon
And the one you are writing
And the one about which you are
Still dreaming
And you pause
And breathe
And choose between greens
And another sip of soup

This is communing
This is a feast
This is your living breathing
Ode to slow

While you listen to her tell
You a story
Or two or more
As you linger and beg
The waitress to kick you out
If you have stayed past closing time
Which you have
But there is grace and you
Are welcome here
Where lunch and life
Are slow
And you are surrounded by those
Who know the art
Of

A two hour lunch
Oh that we would
Slow
Down

The bowed head
The table and chairs
The knife and fork
These
Symbols of a life
Slowed

An ode
To a two hour lunch

+++++++++++++++++

Joining the folks at Tweetspeak Poetry as we explore the “Ode